


Drink Cider From a Lemon

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about friendship, love and building your own kind of home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink Cider From a Lemon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daniomalley22](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=daniomalley22).



> Also contains Ryan/Spencer leading to future Ryan/Spencer/Brendon/Jon
> 
> Thank you to my beta ♥
> 
> Daniomalley22, I hope you like the story and it does justice to your awesome prompts.

Officially, 782 Primas Avenue is categorized as a drop in center for those most in need. It’s a place that’s open early morning to midnight and staffed by people who wear their hearts on their sleeves. At least mostly, when they’re not forced to be stone-faced, barely maintaining a facade as they deal with unrelenting red-tape and people brought down to their knees. 

Unofficially 782 Primas Avenue is called ‘The Center’ or for those who’ve been attending for more than a few days -- for those who need the lifeline it provides, it’s simply called, ‘home’.

~*~*~*~

“We need more packets of cookies, and apples if we can get them,” Ray says, frowning slightly as he writes numbers down on a list. “We’re low on toilet paper, too. We’ll be down to using newspaper soon.”

Distracted, his own lists untouched on his lap, Gerard leans back in his seat and stares up at the ceiling, his gaze fixed on the damp patch in the corner that keeps spreading. “We can’t use the newspapers, we’re going to use them to make a paper mache dragon.”

“Of course you are.” Ray doesn’t even attempt to explain he was joking about using the papers. There’s no point, not now when Gerard is lost in his own thoughts. Which would be fine normally, but Ray needs to finish this stock take, and Gerard isn’t helping at all. “We’re down to the last pile of blankets. A few days and we’ll be out.”

“I’ll hit up our contacts,” Gerard says, sitting upright and pulling out his pen from where he’s got it tucked behind his ear. “Or I’ll get Mikey to do it.”

“Good plan.” Ray has to approve, because as awesome as Gerard is at encouraging support for The Center, it’s Mikey with his ninja-like persuading skills that brings in a constant stream of donations. Ray suspects it’s something to do with having a contact list that stretches into the thousands, or the fact his smile is a deadly weapon, one that people will do anything to see directed their way. Whatever it is, it works, and Ray makes a mental note to ask Mikey, too.

“The grandma’s are coming by on Tuesday,” Gerard says, glancing up at Ray before finishing writing a note on the palm of his hand. “I know knitted blankets aren’t ideal. But they’ll be warm.”

“And ideal for the lounge,” Ray says, picturing the battered couches covered in brightly colored knitted blankets, something that’ll help cheer up the room while providing comfort. “But I don’t think they like being called the grandma’s. Some of the group aren’t much older than us.”

Gerard shrugs, dismissing that detail. “They’re still mostly grandma’s. Fucking awesome ones, too.”

“They are,” that’s something Ray has to agree with, the connection between The Center and the local women’s institute one of the new schemes that’s worked amazingly well. “But we still need more blankets to give out, and the clothes situation is getting desperate.

“I’ll hit the stores for donations later.” All business now, Gerard writes another note on his hand and jumps to his feet, tucking the pen behind his ear as he starts to walk from the room -- then stops, as if he’s suddenly remembered he’s supposed to be helping. “I was going to help in the kitchen, but…..”

“Go. Ray waves Gerard away. There’s no point in insisting he stays, especially when Ray’s capable of dealing with the lists on his own. Plus, at least this way the task will be done sooner. Ray loves Gerard and his stories, but the facts are, it’s just faster to get things done on his own. “But you’d better keep me a corner piece of pie.”

Gerard grins, wide and sunny, says simply, “You’ve got it.”

~*~*~*~

Before, when Ryan lived in an actual house and had a semi-safe and secure home life, he used to have ambitions. Back then he wanted to travel the world, to wake up in strange places and experience life in all its rich variations. Now though. Now his ambitions are more simple. To achieve some kind of job, to get insurance, and food to eat daily, to have some place warm, and more important, safe to sleep. 

They’re all things that he’d wish for, if he hadn’t learned that wishes mean nothing. There’s no point wasting energy on hope when you’re struggling to get through the day. Which is why being around Brendon is trying. Even now he’s relentlessly cheerful, and Ryan wants to wipe the smile from Brendon’s face. Smash the false grin and brittle laughter as they walk through the park, wasting time as night falls.

“We should sleep behind the cafe again. It was warm there, at least, it was warmer,” Brendon says, words tumbling together as he circles Ryan, as if unable to adjust to his slow pace. “Spencer might have found more blankets, or food. I liked those sandwiches we had last night. They were good.”

“They were stale.” Ryan cuts into Brendon’s chatter, hating how it makes his face fall, but needing the silence. 

“But they tasted okay,” Brendon says quietly, hunching in on himself, his shoulders rounded and chin down, never looking at Ryan as he adds, “I hope Spencer and Jon found more.”

“They might have,” Ryan allows, taking in how Brendon responds with a tentative smile, a response that leaves Ryan tensed up inside that, no matter how dismissive he is, Brendon keeps trying. A few moments silence and he says, “Or we could go to that Starbucks again.”

“The one where you fought that guy for a pastry?” Brendon asks, his mouth already curling up into a grin. “That was fucking awesome.”

“It wasn’t a fight, I just hit him in the nose with my elbow,” Ryan says, and knows he should feel embarrassed at scuffling over old food, but Ryan’s well past embarrassment, especially when it comes to securing a meal. Plus, as much as he denies it, Ryan can’t help a burst of satisfaction when he remembers elbowing the man aside to get into the dumpster. “And yeah, I mean there. We can go after we meet Spencer and Jon.”

“They should be there now.” Brendon hurries forward, and then turns, walking backwards when Ryan keeps his steady, slow pace. “I could go and see. It’s only around the corner.”

“Go.” Ryan waves Brendon away, knowing he needs to move and bleed off some energy. Even though, if he were sensible Ryan should say no, that Brendon should retain his energy for when it’s actually needed, but he won’t. Not when right now Brendon looks normal, like an ordinary person out for a walk. 

It’s something that won’t last -- it can’t, personal grooming and good nutrition some of the first things to go when you’re forced to live on the streets. Not that Ryan doesn’t try to look good. He’s not so far gone that he won’t wash when he can, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re restricted to using public restrooms. 

“It’s okay, I’ll wait.” Apparently changing his mind about running ahead, Brendon slows, waiting for Ryan to catch up. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

“Because it’s such a complicated route to get round the corner,” Ryan says, his former annoyance fading away as they walk, steps in sync and Brendon blissfully, quiet.

“Thanks for today, I know you’d have preferred to go with Spencer.” Brendon looks over at Ryan, his expression blank, like he’s deliberately trying to hide what he’s feeling. “I would have been okay with Jon.”

“Jon doesn’t know the city.” Not that Ryan knows it completely. It’s just, he’s been here with Spencer for a few months now, enough that they’re starting to know the good spots to find food. Splitting up and sharing that knowledge was the sensible thing to do, even if Ryan’s spent the whole day veering between being irritated by Brendon and wondering why he turned up at the Greyhound station with only a small backpack and a few bucks to his name.

It’s something Ryan wants to ask, but he won’t. Questions don’t get asked on the streets. It’s an unspoken rule that Ryan approves of, when he can hide his own story and be the person he is now without the weight of his past pulling him down. It’s something that makes Ryan feel free, that he can finally breathe, and if that comes along with a constant struggle to keep warm and actually eat: well, he’ll deal. 

“I hope they found that place for Rex.” Brendon sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve before pushing his hands deep in the pocket of his hoodie. “He needs medicine.”

“You need medicine,” Ryan points out, but knows that getting meds for Jon’s dog will probably be easier than getting the same for Brendon’s cold. “They’ll take one look at Rex and treat him for free.”

“It’s his eyes, no one can resist them,” Brendon says, opening his eyes wider and tilting his head to one side as he looks at Ryan with a mournful expression. “Think I should try it? Stand at the counter until they give me some meds?”

“They’re more likely to throw you out on the street,” Ryan says, taking a step to the side when Brendon exaggerates his expression, his mouth turned down and looking so sad that if he actually had meds, Ryan would hand them over right now. 

“You’re probably right.” As if a switch has been clicked, Brendon straightens his head and smiles, no trace of sadness remaining. “But I might try it some time. Stand outside a bakers and look sad. We might get a fresh doughnut.”

“Or arrested for begging.” Or even more likely, moved on by the police. That’s something Ryan’s seen often, people he’s come to know by sight being told to move away from stores and businesses, as if even the sight of someone apparently living on the streets is offensive. Not that Brendon has that look yet, but a few weeks and he’ll lose the shine of the healthy and clean, a few weeks after that and he’ll be yet another faceless kid lost to the streets. Someone who the vast majority of the population will want to ignore.

“Have you and Spencer tried that? Begging I mean.” Brendon’s question is hesitant, as if he’s unsure if it’s something he’s allowed to ask. “I’ve seen other people do it.”

“No,” Ryan says shortly, and as far as he’s concerned that’s how it’s going to stay. While he’s become used to searching dumpsters for food and even on occasions, taking from stores, begging remains a step too far. Ryan’s lines may have changed, and be more gray and scuffed than their previous black, but he’s not about to beg for something for nothing. 

“Oh. Okay.” Again, Brendon falls silent, never looking at Ryan until they turn the corner and see Spencer and Jon, and some guy who’s kneeling while patting Rex. Despite his relief at seeing Spencer, Ryan slows his walk even further, using the time to take in the stranger. From this distance it’s impossible to see his face, or any other details, except the fact that there’s a guitar case close to the guy’s feet and that he seems to have a new best friend in Rex.

“Spencer. Jon. Hi.” Brendon waves, hurrying forward a few steps before stopping, as if unsure if he’s supposed to wait for Ryan. “How’s Rex? Did you get to see a vet? Did he get meds?”

“We found a vet who saw him for free.” Jon bents, resting his hand on the top of Rex’s head, his fingers buried in silky grey fur. “But I had to pay for some ointment with the last of my money.”

While Ryan hasn’t known Jon long, just a little longer than Brendon in fact, it’s situations like this which reassure Ryan that letting Jon stick close was the right thing to do, even though, at first, it was Rex who closed the decision for Ryan. “Good, he needed it, didn’t you, boy” Ryan says, itching to pet Rex but keeping a distance due to the cluster of people around him.

“He’s awesome.” A last pat and the guy stands, his breath hitching as he rubs his knees before picking up his guitar case and starts to move away. “Look after him.”

“Wait.” It’s Spencer that’s speaking, and Ryan doesn’t get why he’s stopping the guy from leaving. It makes no sense, especially when, Spencer adds, “We’ve got food. You’re welcome to share it.”

“You got food?” Brendon sniffs, his grin still visible from behind his arm as he rubs his nose on his sleeve. “We were going to go to that Starbucks where Ryan broke that guy’s nose, but if you’ve got food now….”

“You broke someone’s nose?” The stranger has stopped walking, looking caught between amusement and interest as he stares directly at Ryan. “That’s hardcore.”

“It was an accident.” Uncomfortable at the scrutiny, Ryan glances at Spencer, trying to understand just what’s going on. “They’d thrown out food and he was taking it all. That’s not right.”

“So you punched him on his nose.” The stranger grins as he backs away slightly, his hands in the air as if warding off Ryan. “Will you break my nose if I say yes to sharing your food?.”

“No, he won’t,” Spencer cuts in, shooting Ryan a look. Not that there’s a possibility that Ryan’s about to start throwing punches, but still, he gets the warning to play nice. “You helped us, sharing food is the least we can do.”

“It was Frank who took us to the vet that does sliding scale payments,” Jon says, smiling down at Rex when he bumps against his leg. “When I filled in the form I didn’t even make the scale, but he still saw Rex.”

“Bob’s awesome like that, he loves dogs,” Frank says, and then, “I’d love to share your food. Thank you.”

Ryan tries to hide his reluctance. He’s already dealt with too many people today, and spending time with a stranger doesn’t appeal. But, at the same time, Frank apparently has helped Rex, and to Ryan, that’s a huge plus. Resigned, he says, “We found apples. You’re welcome to share.”

“Awesome.” Spencer grins, his approval obvious as he takes a step toward Ryan. “We got pastries and a full pizza.”

“From behind Dominoes?” Ryan asks, and at Spencer’s nod, can’t help a small smile himself, when, finally, this day starts looking up.

~*~*~*~

“Why the fuck did I agree we should do this?” HIs laptop pushed to one side, Ray leans back in his chair, rotating his head as he attempts to ease the ache in his neck. Not that it helps, in fact, at this point, Ray doubts if anything could touch the permanent knots. “We’re moving too fast, I shouldn’t have listened to Gerard.”

“He’s very persuasive,” Mikey says, pushing against the ground so his chair rolls closer to Ray’s. “You’ve got a reply from the planners?”

“Not yet.” Which is one of the problems, as much as Ray believes in Gerard’s vision, without actual official permission any other plans have ground to a halt. “Without that we can’t do anything and our stock piles are down and it’s getting colder and….”

“It’ll work out,” Mikey cuts in, sounding sure as he stretches out his leg and taps Ray’s ankle with the toe of his boot. “You have to believe.”

“I do,” and Ray _does_ , it’s just, extensions can’t be build on dreams and belief only. They’re built on plans and materials and a thousand other things that seem out of reach at the moment. “But have you seen out there? We’re nearly at capacity already.”

“I saw,” Mikey says, and Ray wants to apologize, because of course Mikey saw. The Centre is a huge part of his life, too, and Ray knows for a fact he’ll have spent time talking to the people hanging in the various areas before coming into the office. “More clothes should be arriving tomorrow. I hit up some people.”

“That’s great,” Ray says, and for the first time in a few hours feels he could smile as he imagines yet more people in need being kitted out with leftover merch. “I don’t suppose you can hit up the planner, too?”

It’s not a serious question, but Mikey’s gaze is unfocused, as if he’s mentally checking through his contacts. “I don’t know them personally. But I could ask a friend of a friend if they do.”

“If you could do that it would be great,” Ray says, pushing aside the thought that getting Mikey involved like this could be wrong. It’s not like he’s going to go out and offer bribes or something, more like greasing the wheel. At least, hopefully, enough that Ray can stop banging his head against a brick wall. “But if you find someone don’t push too hard. Or offer any services.”

“Services?” Mikey draws out the word, mouth quirked up into a smile as he adds. “If you mean sexual, you know I keep those for shit like food and clothes.”

“I didn’t, I mean….” Ray trails off as Mikey starts laughing, and that he missed that Mikey is teasing is a big indication that Ray needs a break. “I’m going to hit the kitchen, see what’s left.”

Instantly Mikey stands, making his chair spin behind him. “Gerard made brownies, they’re good.”

“In an edible way, or a you way?” It’s a distinction Ray’s learned to make, one born of countless occasions where Mikey has happily eaten Gerard’s frankly disgusting food and actually enjoyed it.

For a long moment Mikey considers. “In an edible way. Lindsey helped and said no Skittles.”

“Lindsey’s smart,” Ray says, imagining the mess that could result in Gerard cooking Skittles in the oven. “Skittles don’t belong in brownies.”

“Skittles are awesome. So are brownies, together they’re fucking awesome.” Mikey waits, watching as Ray closes his laptop and locks it up in a desk drawer. “We baked Count Chocula brownies once, handful of cereal, another of weed. Mom said they were the best that she’d tasted.”

“Of course she did.” Really, Ray’s got nothing else he can say, a long friendship with Mikey and Gerard meaning he knows Donna almost as well as his own mom. Not that he can remember any mention of Chocula/weed brownies, which means Ray has to ask, “How old were you when you made those?”

“Early teens maybe.” Mikey shrugs, as if the exact details mean nothing. “There wasn’t that much weed in the mix. Just what Gerard had left.”

“So you shared your Chocweed brownies with your mom and not me?” Ray says, making a point even though the thought of actually eating the concoction makes his teeth itch. Mock sad he adds, “So much for being friends.”

“I don’t think we knew you then. Not at sharing chocweed brownie levels anyway,” Mikey says, patting Ray’s back as they walk. “If you want I can make you a batch. “I’ll bring them to your room tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass.” Not that Ray isn’t adventurous or anything, it’s just, right now he doesn’t need to be stoned on chocolate, cereal and weed.

“Your loss,” Mikey says lightly, waving at Tom when they exit the office and see him sprawled out on one of the easy chairs in the lounge. “I brought him some more shoes earlier. Hopefully he’ll keep these ones.”

“Unless you stapled them to his feet I’d say no,” Ray says, well aware of Tom’s habit of misplacing his shoes. Which is fine in the Center, no one’s about to enforce any kind of dress code, but Tom needs shoes for when he’s out on the streets. The problem is though, Tom doesn’t seem to agree.

“No staples, but I could put glue on the soles next time.” Mikey takes a sharp left, going into the kitchen where Gerard’s unloading the dishwasher, his face red as he bats at a cloud of billowing steam. “Gee, I need to borrow your glue. Ray’s implementing stuck on clothes.”

“Stuck on shoes,” Ray corrects, and then, “Not that I’m doing that either. No one needs their clothes sticking on, or glued on, or stapled.”

Stepping out of the dispersing steam, Gerard wipes his face and stands to one side of the open dishwasher door. “Stapling stuff to yourself hurts. So does getting shit stapled to you.”

“I did that once, and you put your hand in the way,” Mikey says, eyeing the half empty brownie tin that’s been left on the counter. “What did you expect me to do?”

“Not staple a flyer to my hand,” Gerard says, holding up his hand as if displaying some invisible past hurt. “It wasn’t even a good flyer.”

“It was kind of shitty,” Mikey agrees, and makes a move for the brownies, snatching two up before handing one over to Ray. “Ray wants chocoweed brownies. I said I’d make a batch.”

Abandoning the dishwasher, Gerard grabs his own brownie, taking a bite before saying, “Stapling on clothes and now wanting to provide chocoweed brownies. I don’t think that’s part of The Center ideal.”

“I don’t….” Ray trails off, looking between Gerard and Mikey, who both look perfectly innocent, too innocent in fact, like they’re sharing some amusement that’s internally delighting them both. “I hate you both. Have I told you that lately?”

“Several times,” Gerard says, giving up hiding his grin and displaying many chocolate flecked teeth. “You should have seen your face.”

Mikey leans against the counter, barely missing hitting the array of dirty mugs with his elbow. “But I will make you those brownies one day. Just with the good weed, not those dried scrapings Gee had back in the day.”

“I worked with what I had at the time,” Gerard says, finishing off his brownie with one last big bite. “I don’t suppose you’ve got an email from the planner since the last time I saw you.”

“That was only twenty minutes ago,” Ray points out, but he gets why Gerard’s so impatient. They need this permission, and the sooner the better if they’ve any chance of even starting the new extension before fall. “But no, no email.”

“Fuck,” Gerard says softly, sudden tension there in the slope of his shoulders as he half-heartedly stacks a few dirty plates. “What’s taking so long?”

It’s a question that’s been asked countless times, and Ray still doesn’t have an answer. They’ve paid for the surveys, handed in hundreds of forms, even gone door-to-door around the neighborhood explaining what they’re wanting to do. Now all the can do is wait for a decision.

And that sucks. Big time.

~*~*~*~

It turns out that hanging with Frank isn’t so bad. Sure, he likes talking a lot, but so does Ryan at times. It also helps Frank’s stories are new, by this point Ryan could recite Spencer’s stories off by heart, and despite knowing Jon and Brendon for only a short time, Ryan already feels he knows about both of their lives. Not that that’s actually true, Ryan knows they’ve only told what they want to be told, and that, right now, neither are about to share their deep secrets. Which is why Ryan’s enjoying spending this time with Frank, when for a short while, he can listen to and lose himself in a new world.

“So then I dove off the stage, and the fuckers didn’t grab hold.” Frank scowls, miming throwing himself off of a stage. “I hit the ground so hard I thought I’d lost a tooth, and then some fucker stood on my balls.”

“Damn.” Brendon’s eyes are wide and he’s leaning forward, intent on Frank’s every word. “What did you do?”

“Got up and did it again, of course,” Frank says, as if that’s the only logical answer. “Fucking pit newbies. They shouldn’t be allowed up front until they know what they’re doing.”

“I went to a concert once, it was fucking awesome. I told my parents I was going to a sleepover.” Brendon grins wide, using his fingers to tap out a beat on the side of his leg. “They were so glad I’d actually got a friend they didn’t ask for the details.”

Frank holds out his clenched hand, bumping his knuckles with Brendon’s. “Sneaking out is a rite of passage. My mom used to turn a blind eye as long as I was home before morning.”

“She sounds cool.” Jon looks up from where he’s been stroking Rex’s head, engaging with the conversation for the first time. “My mom encouraged my love of music. But she still drove me to shows. I’d get her to drop me off at the end of the block.”

“I went to my first show with Ryan,” Spencer says, and Ryan knows exactly where this is going, enough that he’s already bracing himself for the inevitable teasing. “We went to see Backstreet Boys. Ryan was on his feet dancing.”

“I wasn’t dancing.” That Ryan will protest, because sure, he was up on his feet, but no way was he dancing.

“You were dancing,” Spencer says, his grin only for Ryan. “You did the hat and chair dance along with that girl in the next seat.”

“If I had any money I’d pay to see that.” Frank’s staring at Ryan, looking amused, and Ryan’s sure the next thing that he says will be mocking. “They’re not my speed but fuck, music is music and they work hard. As first shows go you could do worse.”

“They’re not….” Ryan trails off, taking in the fact that Frank’s not mocking at all. “We liked them, I liked them. Their music was good for distraction.”

As statements go it doesn’t even approach how Ryan felt at the time, and how that period of his life was the beginning of Ryan’s great love for music. It’s something that’s been there for him constantly since then, one of the only things apart from Spencer’s friendship. 

“Like I said, music is music.” Frank shuffles, trying to make himself more comfortable on the park bench. Pushing his hands deeper in his hoodie pocket, he shivers and says, “One of my first gigs was watching my grandfather on stage playing drums. He was amazing.”

“Did you want to be like him?” Brendon indicates Frank’s guitar, which he’s got safely tucked between his feet. “I mean. You’ve got a guitar and everything. Unless it’s just a case and you’re carrying your clothes, which is your right, I’m not judging or anything, it’s just…..”

“It’s a guitar,” Frank says, cutting off Brendon, who looks relieved that Frank’s actually answered. “And yeah, I wanted to be like him. Made it for a while too until things got fucked up.”

“Your band that folded?” Spencer asks, and Ryan tries to ignore the pang of jealousy that Spencer’s already had some variation of this conversation with Frank, and knows things about his life that Ryan doesn’t. 

“That’s the one.” Frank shrugs, the dismissive gesture doing nothing to hide the disappointment that seeps through he as he talks. “Good things went bad, angry words were said and here I am now, couch surfing with friends and trying to start over again.”

Brendon hesitates a moment, as if unsure if he should ask any more questions, then says, “Is that where you’re staying tonight? On a friend’s couch?”

“Maybe, I’ll probably be crashing with someone else yet.” Frank stands, picking up his guitar and looks at them all. “Have you ever been to The Center?”

“You mean the mall?” Jon asks, but Frank shakes his head, grinning as he takes a step back from the bench.

“Nope. I mean _The Center_ , the weirdest and most rad drop in place out there,” and then, when nobody moves. “Well come on then. I’ve eaten your food, the least I can do is introduce you to some of my friends.”

“Is it far?” Not that Ryan minds walking, it’s just, they tend to sleep in known safe places, and going away from those areas at night isn’t the best of decisions.

“A half hour or so I guess,” Frank says, and then, “Stay if you want, but you’ll like it. It’s warm there and they usually have food.”

“Sold.” Brendon jumps to his feet, startling Rex who barks as he jumps up alongside him. “And Rex is sold, too.”

“I knew Rex was smart,” Frank says, ruffling Rex’s head. “So, are you coming?”

Ryan looks at Spencer, asking the question without words, and despite remaining reservations, is content to follow along when Spencer says, “Sure.”

~*~*~*~

“I’m just saying, rooms would be better than a dorm.” Pad of paper in front of him, Gerard quickly sketches out a plan that includes a series of small rooms, each one complete with beds and what have to be cupboards. “It’s more homely.”

“And more expensive.” Not that Ray doesn’t understand Gerard’s point. A series of rooms would be awesome to have, but the new extension will already cost an extortionate amount, and that’s with pulling in favors. “A dorm will be more cost effective, and it’s giving people a safe and warm place to sleep that’s our aim. They won’t care how that happens.”

“I would.” Gerard sketches again, adding onto the plan so it becomes something sprawling and huge. “Our people deserve the best.”

“And they’ll get it.” Gently, Lindsey tugs the pad away from Gerard, smoothing away his frown with the pad of her thumb. “But we have to be realistic. There’s only so much money to go around.”

Gerard takes hold of Lindsey’s hand, pulling it down so he can press a kiss to the side of her thumb. “We could fundraise or hit up more sponsors.”

We could,” Lindsey agrees. “But when? Everyone is already working hard, we have to have a life, too.”

Ray nods in agreement. As much as he loves The Center -- as much as they all do -- there’s only so much time and effort you can put in before negatively affecting your own life. Already Ray struggles to fit in all the things he needs and wants to do, and he can’t see that changing anytime soon.

“Okay. Fine.” Gerard sighs, relaxing so he’s leaning against Lindsey, both of them squashed into one of the easy chairs too battered to stay out in public. “I just want this to work.”

“It will,” Ray says, still confident in the plans that have been years in the making. “It might take a little bit longer than we thought, and you might not get your rooms, but it’ll happen.”

“It will,” Lindsey agrees, and looks toward the door of the office at the sound of a bang followed by barking. “I thought Bob was working tonight?”

“He was.” Not that the barking sounds like any of Bob’s regular dogs, but really, that means nothing when Bob has the habit of fostering any dogs that need a temporary home. Pushing himself up out of his seat, Ray cranes his head, trying to see out of the open door, and says, “It’s not Bob. It’s Frank, and he’s brought friends.”

“Is Mikey one of them?” Gerard asks, putting his pen to one side. 

“Not unless he’s following them in,” Ray says, watching as Frank ushers the new people inside, one of the group staying on the doorstep with a large dog. “Looks like he’s brought a dog, too.”

“He has?” Lindsey wiggles free from Gerard, moving so she can stand next to Ray, taking in the group for a moment. “Jesus, they keep getting younger. I’ll go and give the spiel.”

Looking at the group, Ray has to agree about their ages. It’s why, sometimes, no matter how hard they all work, he’s hit with the realization that the help they’re providing is a drop in the ocean. It’s overwhelming if Ray thinks about it too much, which is why he puts so much effort into improving The Center. So that people like these, too young and no doubt hungry and cold can have a place to feel safe, if only for part of the time. 

“I’ll go check out the hot drink situation,” Gerard says, appearing beside Ray. “Ask Frank if he’s seen Mikey. He should have been here by now.”

“He’ll be talking to someone,” or decided to hang out with a friend or visit a club or a thousand other things that mean Mikey getting distracted. Still, Ray adds, “I’ll ask,” before following Lindsey.

“Frank, hey.” Lindsey grins at Frank, her expression carefully friendly when she greets all the others. “Hi, welcome to The Center, come in already, you’re letting in a draft.”

“I’ll stay here with Rex,” the man on the doorstep says, his hand on the dog’s head. “We’ll be okay.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Lindsey eases past the group and pulls the door further open, indicating that the man and the dog should come inside. “There’s room for everyone in here, and you’ll freeze if you stay out there.”

As comments go, it’s technically not true. The Center officially a place where only service animals can enter and stay. But as rules go, it’s one that tends to be easily broken, especially right now when Rex’s owner is shivering, despite wearing a coat.

“Yeah, come in already,” Ray says, backing up a little and smiling when he notices he’s under scrutiny by most of the group. “Hi, I’m Ray, one of the owners of this place. We’re open a few more hours until midnight, and have hot drinks and food. At least, we should. It depends who got to it first.”

“We’re not hungry.” It’s one of the strangers whose spoken, the one that’s all pinch-faced and pale under the cap that’s pulled down low on his head. “And we’re not interested in religion so forget about any leaflets you want to give out.”

“No ulterior motives in having you here,” Ray says, his hands out and looking toward Frank for back-up. “Just a place where you can hang for a while if you want.”

“I told you, this place is different. No bibles thrust in your face in exchange for a bowl of soup.” Putting down his guitar, Frank peels off his gloves, shoving them deep in his pockets. “Ray, Lindsey. This is Rex, Jon, Ryan, Spencer and Brendon. I thought I’d bring them here to hang for a while.”

“Nice to meet you.” Lindsey smiles as she looks at each person, welcoming them all in her own way. “Like Ray said, there’s no ulterior motive, The Center is a safe place, just somewhere for people to hang if they need it. We’ve got more stuff going on in the day, but at nights things are more relaxed. Just, no alcohol and no drugs allowed on the premises. We see that and you’re out. No exceptions.”

Frank grins at Lindsey. “Listen to her, she’s tough. I saw her physically kick someone out once.”

“He deserved it, and I’d do it again,” Lindsey says, steel apparent in the short statement. “But enough of that. You all look freezing. Come into the TV room. We’ve got comfy chairs and blankets if you want them.”

“They have,” Frank agrees, and is about to move on when Ray reaches out, touching his arm.

“Gerard wants to know if you’ve seen Mikey. He was supposed to be here by now.”

“He’ll be talking to someone,” Frank says, echoing Ray’s words, but then adds, “I did see him earlier. He said he needed to head over to Pete’s. Something about collecting on his bet.”

Ray doesn’t want to know, he really doesn’t, but somehow he finds himself asking. “A bet?”

“About collecting phone numbers,” Frank says, looking amused. “If Mikey got the most Pete had to pay his accountant to do The Center’s taxes this year. If Pete won, Mikey had to…. I’m not actually sure what he had to do.”

“And you’re okay with that?” It’s a question that slips out, past the jumbled together thoughts of ‘Mikey did what? That’s a kind of weird way to get help but it is Pete and Mikey. Please, God, let Mikey have won so I don’t have to do taxes’.

“He’s not actually calling the numbers,” Frank says, his cheeks puffed out as he blows onto his cupped hands. “And he got free tax help for you guys, so….”

“Thank fuck,” Ray says softly, breathing a little easier that a hated job will be taken off of his shoulders. “I’ll go tell Gerard Mikey hasn’t actually been kidnapped and thrown into the slave trade.”

“I don’t know, he is with Pete, anything could happen.” Frank’s grin widens as he picks up his guitar again, holding it tight as he starts walking. “I’m going to grab myself a couch and take control of the TV.

“Good luck with that,” Lindsey says, following Frank down the hallway. “Last time I looked Gabe had the remote.”

“I can take him,” Frank says easily, and looks behind him as he adds, “Come on, I didn’t bring you all here to stand by the door.”

“Go on. It’s okay,” Ray says, when none of the group moves. “It’s what this place is here for, and Frank always gets the best couches and chairs.”

Frank stops walking and punches the air. “That’s because I’m so awesome.”

“Also, annoying,” Lindsey says, along with a fond smile.  
“You are,” Ray agrees, solemn despite the smile that fights to break free, and does so when Frank flips them both off with one final grin.

~~~~~

“So what, they run this place for people like us, and want nothing in return,” Spencer says, his suspicion obvious as he follows Frank along the hallway. “What are they, supreme do-gooders?”

“I know what it looks like.” Frank slows, stopping in front of a giant notice board covered in messages and curled-edged posters. “The first time I came here I thought they’d be a catch too. But there isn’t one. Promise.”

Ryan shouldn’t trust Frank, he knows that he shouldn’t. All trust does is blow up in your face, and Ryan’s tired of being constantly let down. But, somehow, he does trust. Not completely, there’s still a part of him that’s expecting the worst, but right now Ryan wants a few hours where he can rest for a while in a warm place where he won’t be constantly watching his back. It helps that Frank’s so comfortable here, and that The Center itself feels homely with no trace of institution in its brightly colored walls and well worn carpet. 

Ryan looks toward Spencer, ensuring he looks comfortable too, and then says, “We’ll stay for a while.”

Already further along the hallway, Brendon looks back, hesitating next to an open door. “Is this where we’re going?”

“It is,” Frank says, catching up with Brendon. “This is the TV room, there’s other public rooms around the place, but they’re not as important. This is the one that matters.”

After that build up, Ryan’s unsure what he’s going to see when he reaches the door, but what he does see is a large room full of mismatched couches and easy chairs, the majority facing a large TV attached to the wall. It’s a room where the aesthetic seems to be chaos, none of the blankets draped over the back of the couches matching, while the artwork on the walls is a mix of the macabre and overly cheery. It’s also a room that screams relaxed comfort and despite his misgivings at seeing yet more new people, Ryan wants to go in. 

“Kitchen’s over there if you want to grab a drink or something to eat,” Frank says, pointing at another door at the side of the room. “Grab a couch, but keep away from the one right at the back unless you want to fight Tom for the privilege. I’m going to get the control before we have to watch shitty telenovelas. Hey, Saporta, give me that remote you insane bastard.”

With that last shout Frank runs forward, setting down his guitar and leaping over the back of a couch in one fluid movement. Instantly there’s a grunt and someone’s feet come into view, the couch rocking back before landing with a thud.

“Think he’s okay?” Brendon asks, his eyes wide as he stares in Frank’s direction. 

From the sound of laughter and insults coming from the couch Frank’s more than fine, in fact, it sounds like he’s enjoying himself, something Spencer seems to agree with as he says, “It reminds me of being home with my sisters.”

Ryan has to agree, years of being a semi regular at Spencer’s meaning he’s well aware of the sound of people scuffling for fun. It’s a knowledge that comes along with the memory of Spencer’s sisters and parents, and Ryan knows that as bad as he misses them right now, for Spencer it’s a thousand times worse. It’s why he bumps his shoulder against Spencer’s and says, “Want to find those drinks?”

“Just go into the kitchen.” Frank looks over the back of the couch, his hair mussed and cheek reddened on one side. “Tell Gerard I’ll be there for my brownie after I take this clown down.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, even though he’s got no idea who Gerard actually is. 

“We can go if you want?” Spencer looks directly at Ryan, measuring how he feels by look as well as by words. “Brendon and Jon can catch up with us later if they want to stay.”

“No, it’s okay,” Ryan says. Even if everything is confusing right now, Ryan’s learned to trust his own instincts, and right now there’s nothing that screams danger. If sticking around some weird place will lead to a few hours warmth and maybe some actual fresh food, well, Ryan’s willing to do it. “We can stay a while, hang out with your new best friend, Frank.”

“Asshole, he’s not my best friend, we just talked,” Spencer says, frowning at Ryan. “So stop being jealous and come get something to eat.”

“He’s the one that should be jealous,” Ryan points out, hiding his smile when he adds. “You know, for you having such an awesome best friend like me.”

“Oh sure, he’s probably green with jealousy,” Spencer says, and then, “A deep emerald green.”

“I think he’s more jade myself,” Ryan adds, and can’t help a small smile, this gentle bickering with Spencer something so normal and comforting that Ryan feels at home, even if, in reality, that’s actually states and a lifetime away.

“Maybe,” Spencer allows, but any more words are cut off when Brendon peers out of the door to the kitchen, beckoning them inside.

“You need to come in already. Gerard’s made brownies, and there’s hot chocolate if we want it.”

“Wasn’t he watching Frank a second ago?” Spencer watches Brendon for a moment, who seems to be brighter since entering The Center, as if the warmth and light has amplified his previous good spirits. 

“He’s speedy,” Ryan says, and at Brendon’s impatient gesture, walks into the kitchen.

“Hi.” The man standing at the counter waves with one hand, the other holding onto a half full tray of brownies. “I’m Gerard. Have a brownie. They’re not made with Skittles.”

“Which sucks,” Brendon says, taking a brownie and waiting all of a moment before taking a bite. “Skittle in brownies would be awesome, but these taste amazing anyway. They’re not stale at all.”

“I baked them this afternoon,” Gerard says, sounding proud. “We always like to have baked goods on offer, although Lindsey’s usually in charge of that. But today I took over.”

“He did,” Lindsey agrees, looking fondly at Gerard as she enters the room. “And now he’s shown he can stick to a recipe, he can be baker more often.”

“I always stick to a recipe,” Gerard protests, but at Lindsey’s look amends that to, “Okay, I can stick to it if I want. But baking needs experimentation, not boring conformity.”

“And yet boring conformity leads to tasty food and not disasters that stick your teeth together for hours,” Lindsey says, snapping her teeth at Gerard before looking toward Spencer, Ryan and Brendon. “The brownies are good, though. Help yourself, and to hot drinks. It’s what they’re here for.”

More than anything Ryan wants to take a brownie or make himself a hot chocolate, the kind he can keep cradled in his hands and try to ease the chill that always seems bone deep. But first, he has to say, “We’ve got no money.”

Gerard stretches out his arm, so the tray of brownies are within Ryan’s reach. “You don’t need any. Take, enjoy. Go get a drink and watch some TV. Or else, stick around here if you want.”

Still Ryan hesitates, unused to taking anything that comes with no strings attached. 

“Thank you.” Breaking the moment, Spencer takes two brownies, handing one over to Ryan. “Did you say you have hot chocolate.”

“We do,” Lindsey says, already heading toward the drinks station where she takes down chunky white mugs and places them next to a kettle. “We use the big boiler during the day but at night it’s easier to use the kettle. Just remember to fill it up when you make a drink.”

Automatically Ryan nods, well used to obeying those in authority. But he’s also thinking about what Lindsey’s just said, and how it makes no sense. Despite knowing he shouldn’t ask questions, that he’s some stranger who doesn’t have the right, Ryan says, “Shouldn’t there be more people here on a night? It has to be better here than being outside in the dark.”

“There would be if we didn’t have to kick everyone out at midnight.” Gerard puts down the pan he’s been holding, all trace of his previous smile gone. “People need to get into the overnight shelters or claim a good spot on the streets. We’re trying to change things and be reclassified as an overnight, but that’s not going so well.”

“But it will happen,” Lindsey says, sounding sure as she flicks a switch on the kettle, setting it boiling. “I need to go, but ask Gerard if you’ve got any questions. Or Frank. He hangs out here so much he might as well be one of the staff, or part of the family.”

“Oh my god, don’t say that.” Hands held out, as if wanting to physically push Lindsey’s words from out of his space, Gerard winces and adds, “I hear that enough from mom. She actually mentioned gold flower arrangements last time we went there for dinner.”

Lindsey laughs, patting Gerard’s cheek gently as she walks past. “That’s what happens when your first born runs away to get married. The baby gets to take up the slack.”

“That’s not any better,” Gerard protests, and leans back against the counter, barely missing catapulting the remaining brownies to the ground. “Frank’s dating my brother. It’s only been a few months but mom’s plotting a wedding, one with a gold and leopard print theme.”

“Classy,” Spencer says, and then, with a straight face, “Animal print never goes out of fashion.”

“If you’re a housewife of Beverly Hills,” Ryan puts in, only realizing he’s just insulted Gerard’s mom when it’s too late. “I’m sorry, I mean…..”

“It’s okay, you’re right. Just have the wrong city,” Gerard says, sounding amused. “Think more early Sopranos than Beverly Hills.”

Ryan stares, imagining a younger version of Gerard wandering around a huge house with the Sopranos as his parents. “Awesome.”

“She is,” Gerard agrees. “But the wedding thing is crazy. It’s not like Mikey and Frank are about to get married. Even if they did they wouldn’t be wearing matching leopard print cravats.”

“You can get a jungle themed wedding on the strip,” Brendon says, his previous carefully neutral expression wiped out by a grin. “I watched one once from outside with my parents. Not for long, they wouldn’t let me stay for more than a few minutes. But I saw the outfits and fake lion just inside of the door. But that was a man and woman, I don’t know, eh, I don’t think they could marry two men. Or if it’s even legal. It’s probably not. I don’t think so anyway.”

“If they ever decide to actually get married I’ll tell them,” Gerard says, sounding serious and ignoring the fact that Brendon’s abruptly stopped speaking, his head down as if he’s having to stop himself from talking some more. “Maybe they could swap the fake lion for a fake dragon.”

“Dragons are always a good choice,” Ryan agrees, and can’t help feeling pleased when Gerard responds with a blinding smile.

“Yes. Yes they are. The extension should have a dragon. A paper mache one fixed to the roof.” Gerard plucks a pen from behind his ear, quickly writing something on the palm of his hand. His attention obviously torn when he indicates the drinks station and says, “Help yourself. The water should be hot by now.”

“Thanks.” It’s Spencer who makes the first move, steps hesitant at first, as if the offer of free hot drinks are nothing but a cruel joke. Then faster, looking more confident when no one appears yelling when he picks up a mug and looks at the array of fixings for hot drinks. “I’m going to have a hot chocolate. Anyone else?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, allowing himself one bite of the brownie before putting the rest in his pocket. “Extra sugar if they’ve got it.”

Spencer looks up, flashing a smile at Ryan. “Sugar and then more sugar. I know how to make your hot chocolate.”

“You could have forgotten,” Ryan says, even though he knows that won’t be the case. How Ryan likes his hot chocolate is just one of those things that Spencer knows and remembers. Like what makes Ryan smile and the differences between the times Ryan can’t bare to be touched and the ones where he needs a tight hug.

“I didn’t,” Spencer say simply, and then, turning to Brendon adds, “The same for you, too?”

“Yeah, but I can get my own,” Brendon says, covering his mouth when he sneezes. “You don’t have to make it for me.”

“I know,” Spencer says, his movements efficient as he lines up mugs and starts scooping hot chocolate into each one. “Go take Ryan and sit down, tell Jon I’m making him a drink.”

“Yes sir.” Brendon snaps off a messy salute, going to touch Ryan’s arm then pulling back before his hand makes contact with skin. “Shall we go and check out those couches?”

Ryan considers. As much as he likes standing here in the kitchen, where it’s warm and smells good, the thought of sitting down and being able to relax for a while is appealing. It helps that Spencer seems happy as he spoons sugar while taking small bites of his brownie, laughing when Gerard yells something about dragons and their dens before hurrying out from the room. 

“Go,” Spencer says then, looking directly at Ryan. “Save me a seat and a blanket.”

‘“Kay,” Ryan agrees, following Brendon back into the main room, where seemingly, the fight on the front sofa is over. 

“I got the remote.” Proving that, Frank appears from behind the couch, holding up a remote in triumph. “Gabe couldn’t cope with my powers of awesome.”

“More like I didn’t want to pick on a midget,” someone says, the only thing visible their hand as they flip Frank off. “You’d better pick something decent. Carlos was about to confess to bedding Adalia on her wedding night while his twin brother hid in the closet.”

“Why was he hiding there?” Brendon asks, sounding genuinely curious as he makes his way to the front of the room. “Is he an evil twin?”

“Aren’t they all,” Jon says, quietly so only Ryan can hear. 

“Unless it’s a black and white thing going on, you know, like good and evil twins,” Ryan says, easing himself down on a sofa next to Jon’s. “Spencer’s going to bring you some hot chocolate.”

“Awesome.” Stretched out with Rex curled against his leg, Jon looks relaxed and content, his eyes half closed as if, at any moment, he’s about to nap. “It’s nice here.”

“It is,” Ryan has to agree, though, whether that’s the same always is another matter. For all he knows it may be the headquarters of a brainwashing cult, something that’s only apparent during the day. Whatever it is, Ryan’s not about to move now. He’s too comfortable, the couch sagging in just the perfect way to ease the aches of his body and the blanket he grabs soft and warm, something he wants to cling onto as he drifts, half watching the channels change on the TV.

“Ryan. Hey.” Blinking and pulled back into the now, Ryan looks up, taking the mug that Spencer’s holding out as he asks, “Are you awake?

“I’m awake,” Ryan says, clutching the mug with both hands and bringing it up close to his face. Inhaling the steam as Spencer gives another full mug to Jon. It’s only when Spencer goes to the kitchen and then comes back with drinks for Brendon and himself, that Ryan actually takes a first sip, the hit of sugar and heat instant, causing a full-body rush.

“Good?” Spencer asks, settling himself down next to Ryan and pulling the blanket over his lap.

“Very good,” Ryan says in response, and takes another drink, enjoying this time before they have to go out on the streets once again.

~*~*~*~

“I hate doing this,” Gerard says, misery radiated in the way he slumps down and then sits perfectly still in his office chair. “It’s so cold out there, and this is bullshit. They could easily sleep on the couches.”

“I know, but if we got caught doing that we’re fucked,” Ray says, repeating the words he says almost nightly, even though, in reality, Ray agrees with Gerard. If it was up to Ray no one would get sent out at midnight, but letting anyone stay is a risk they can’t afford to take. Even tonight, when Ray’s chest ached as he watched Gabe escort the four newcomers out of The Center. 

“The rules can go fuck themselves,” Gerard says, low and fierce. “No one would know.”

“Except that they would.” It’s something Ray’s thought about often, weighing risks and possibly outcomes, and what it comes down to is, this place is too important to risk, no matter how much he wants to break every rule with Gerard. “Gabe will find them a good place to stay. You know he’s got contacts. And they can come back tomorrow, stay the whole day if they want.”

“They’d better.” Gerard looks up then, forcing a small smile as he says, “I’m getting too fucking old for this. I’m going to be grey or bald in a few years.”

“Well, you keep dying your hair,” Ray says, trying to tug at a strand of Gerard’s blond short hair. “And you need to learn you can’t save everyone, or worry about everyone.”

Gerard sighs, kicking with his feet so his chair swings around in an arc. “It comes with the territory. If you’re a big brother you worry.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ray says, and then, “Talking of. Has Mikey turned up? Or is he still in the clutches of evil?”

“Naw, he left Pete’s hours ago,” Gerard says with a sudden wide grin, and then, “He’s upstairs, but I wouldn’t go up there yet. Frank called James and said he was sleeping out, and then followed Mikey up.”

Ray considers. On one hand, he’s tired and wants to go to bed, but on the other, Mikey and Frank -- and there’s only so many times Ray can ignore them making out in full sight.

“At least he’s not related to you,” Gerard says, sounding unsympathetic to Ray’s plight. “There’s some things I don’t want to know about my baby brother.”

Which would be a good point, except, Ray’s been friends with the Way brothers for years, and knows for a fact there’s no secrets between them: of any kind. “Tell that to someone who didn’t have to sit and listen to a conversation between you and Mikey about tantric sex…. No, don’t.” Ray holds up his hand when Gerard starts to protest. “An hour of that shit followed by favorite sex positions. It’s still seared into my brain.”

“But talking and seeing is different,” Gerard says, his eyes wide as he looks past Ray to the door that leads to the stairs. “When you go up knock on the wall twice if it’s safe to come up. Once if there’s something I won’t want to see. Three if that involves being naked.”

Really, it’s too late for sex based knocking codes, and Ray simply says, “Or I could say nothing and you just come up anyway.”

“I guess,” Gerard allows, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m going to check the doors and set the alarm.”

“Okay.” Taking a moment to grab his laptop, Ray heads for the stairs, listening carefully before he starts to go up. Each step he keeps listening, but everything seems quiet, only the sound of someone’s TV breaking the silence. As signs go it should be a good one, but Ray’s been fooled by silence before, and at the top of the stairs he glances toward the joint living room/kitchen, prepared to look away and hurry to his room if he sees something he shouldn’t. 

“Ray, hey,” Mikey says, from where he’s curled up in the corner of the couch, a rainbow colored patchwork quilt pulled up to his chin. “Come and watch TV with us.”

“Us?” Suspicious, Ray looks toward Mikey’s lap, checking for anything suspiciously Frank shaped, but there’s nothing. “I thought Frank was up here.”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Mikey says, his hand appearing around the side of the quilt when he changes the channel. “Auto choppers, sweet.”

While Ray can’t actually see what Mikey’s watching, Mikey’s comment can mean one of two things. Either Mikey’s found yet another obscure low budget horror, or he’s landed on the shopping channels again. More than anything Ray hopes it’s the former. 

It’s not. Suppressing a sigh, Ray sits at the other end of the couch, waving away the end of the quilt that Mikey offers. “No more kitchen gadgets. You know that. I’m still not over Gerard losing the top of his finger.”

“That was fucking gross,” Mikey says, watching as, onscreen, an onion is chopped into small pieces. “This one has a guard.”

Sometimes Ray has to put his foot down, for the Ways sake as well as his own. It’s why he says firmly, “No.”

“Fine.” A last look and Mikey changes the channels again, stopping at an episode of _Dog the Bounty Hunter_ at the point where Dog’s offering a cigarette to a cuffed bail jumper. “He always does that, just before the heartfelt speech.”

“Are you fucker’s watching Dog without me?” A bang of a door hitting the wall and Frank throws himself onto the couch between Mikey and Ray. “What have I missed? I want to play Dog bingo.”

“I just turned it over,” Mikey says, shifting so he can rest his legs over Frank’s. “But he’s already offered a cigarette and started the speech.”

“Two squares already,” Frank says, sounding delighted. “I’m claiming text square as a close up of Beth’s tits. Loser gets the drinks.”

“There’s always a close up of Beth’s tits,” Mikey says, laughing when Lindsey yells from her bedroom _that’s because Beth’s tits are awesome,_. “Okay, fine. I’m taking a mention of God.”

Which leaves Ray, and what he should do is go to bed right now before he’s sucked into a Dog marathon and Mikey and Frank do more than just lean in close together like they’re doing at the moment. But, that means going back to his room and the truth is, Ray doesn’t want to. He’s happy here crammed on this couch with a musty quilt spilling onto his lap, Mikey’s feet on his lap and spending time with two of his best friends The morning with all its problems will come soon enough, and Ray considers a moment and then says, “A sighting of the mini blond doglings.”

“Oh, a long shot, I like it,” Frank says, giving Ray an approving look before turning back to the screen. “I haven’t seen the mini kids for a while.”

“They’re probably lost in Dog’s hair,” Mikey says, laughing as Dog tosses his fried blonde hair on screen. “There’s probably some bail jumpers in there, too.”

“Hiding from Dog’s meaningful speech,” Ray puts in, and settles back, comfortable, warm, and ready for the first shout of bingo.

~*~*~*~

Ryan had to admit that spending time with Gabe was an adventure. While not sure of him at first -- too loud, too intense, too _everything_ for Ryan right at this moment, he’s also one of the most interesting people that Ryan’s ever met.

Gabe’s stories made the walk from The Center less of chore and for a while Ryan was able to forget about how cold it is and how his feet ached with each step. But Gabe’s gone now, off to some party after ensuring they’ve got a relatively safe place to stay for the night -- not that it’s a place Ryan would have chosen himself.

It just feels wrong to be in a place around others who sleep on the streets. Sure, it’s nice to be within visual distance of a burning fire, but ever since coming to the city, Ryan and Spencer have kept away from areas like this. It’s like they’ve finally stepped over a line, became part of the homeless population that gathers en mass and sleeps in any place that turns a blind eye. Which is stupid, Ryan’s been homeless since the moment he fled from his house and Spencer followed, refusing to go back. It’s just, before he could pretend to himself they hadn’t dropped down this far, that they weren’t the same as these people with their unwashed clothes and air of desperation -- lying something that Ryan’s always been good at, even if that’s to himself.

“I wonder if we could sleep next to the fire?” Shivering visibly, Brendon’s got his hands pushed deep in his pockets, his shoulders rounded and chin down against his chest. It’s something that makes him look very young now, even younger than usual, and Ryan’s gone from feeling content back at The Center to feeling like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Studying the group who surround the fire, Ryan tries to work out what they’d do if Brendon approached, and decides it’s not a good idea. Even after Gabe’s introduction, they’re new here, strangers thrust into a known group, and while that may change in time, it won’t tonight. Looking around, Ryan indicates a place sheltered by a broken down wall and says, “We should stay here.”

“Works for me,” Spencer says, showing his approval by walking over to the spot and sitting, his back against the wall. “Cozy.”

“Yeah, right,” Brendon grumbles, looking longingly toward the fire before sitting down too. Then sneezes, twice, before wiping his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Still gross,” Jon points out, kneeling as he slips his bag off of his back and takes out a bowl, filling it with bottled water for Rex. “Here boy. Drink up, you’ve had a long walk.”

“So have we,” Brendon says, but it’s more a comment for the sake of it instead of an actual complaint.

To the sound of Rex lapping up water, Ryan sits too, trying to find a position that’s at least semi-comfortable. It’s something he’s become used to, trying to sleep on hard surfaces, but this floor must be extra hard because no matter how much he shifts Ryan’s whole body keeps aching.

“Do you want to sit on the blanket?” Spencer asks, taking the blanket Ray insisted they take from out of his bag. Holding it in his arms, Spencer’s a splash of dull color against a sea of otherwise dark and grey, and more than anything Ryan wants to cocoon himself in the blanket with Spencer beside him. But he can’t, not when it’s one they’ve all got to share. 

Ryan shakes his head, giving up on feeling comfortable at all and watches as Spencer organizes their small space, putting their bag where it’ll be safe between Ryan and Spencer and ensuring Jon and Brendon do the same. When everyone is settled , including Rex who stretches out next to Jon, Spencer unfolds the blanket over them all. It fits, just, a soft, nicely smelling blanket that hides the usual blankets they sleep under, the ones they’ve all found on the streets, abandoned and musty. 

If he closes his eyes Ryan can even pretend he’s back home for a moment, the scent of summer caught in the fabric, and the material soft under his fingers.

“I used to have a blanket like this,” Brendon says. He’s sitting next to Ryan, half lying on his bag, the straps looped over his arm. “My grandmother made it, she made one for all my brothers and sisters. I miss it.” 

While Brendon means the blanket, Ryan’s aware that in actuality Brendon misses much more. That’s obvious in the way he looks away, hiding the bleak devastated expression that sweeps across his face. It’s yet another time that Ryan wants to ask questions, and while he knows that he shouldn’t, Brendon looks so sad that Ryan has to reach out, seeking some connection. “I don’t have any siblings, not full ones anyway. Spencer was more of my brother.”

Spencer turns, looking at Ryan with one eyebrow raised. “Sure, that doesn’t make our relationship sound weird or anything.”

“You saying we’ve got a relationship sounds weird,” Ryan says, meeting Spencer’s stare with one of his own. “It sounds like we’re ancient and should be sitting in our formal drawing room with blankets over our lap as we sign Mr. and Mr. calling cards.”

“That makes no sense,” Spencer says as he plucks at the blanket, “And, hello.”

“That’s different.” Ryan would add more except Brendon is looking between Ryan and Spencer, bottom lip caught between his teeth as if he’s desperate to ask some question that he thinks that he shouldn’t. Despite knowing he’s opening himself up to potential unwanted questions, Ryan says, “Just say it, Brendon.”

“You and Spencer. Did you run away because your parents didn’t want you to be together? It’s just, you never say and….” Brendon trails off, and then says hurriedly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“You right, it hasn’t,” Ryan snaps out, instantly regretting giving Brendon the opportunity to ask, because what Ryan and Spencer have has nothing to do with anyone else. What they have is private, something precious that Ryan won’t allow to be sullied by other’s opinions. But at the same time, Ryan hates how Brendon flinches, as if Ryan’s sharp words have actually hurt. Ryan takes a deep breath, looks at Spencer and then reaches out, touching Brendon’s leg over the blanket. “Sorry. You can ask, and yeah, we left due to that. But we didn’t run away, I decided to leave. There’s a difference.”

“And I decided to follow,” Spencer says, entwining his fingers with Ryan’s out of sight between their bodies, holding on tight as if, even now, he’s worried about Ryan trying to leave once again. “Where Ryan goes I go.”

Brendon waits for a moment, as if weighing up what he’s just heard, and then says, “I wish I had that.”

“You will.” That’s something Ryan is sure of. Brendon may be annoying and often too loud. But the more time they spend together the more that Ryan sees Brendon’s also someone to admire. Brave, loyal, determined, and on a more shallow note, has a smile and body that make people look twice. Not that Ryan has. Much. 

“Thanks.” Brendon grins, wide and sunny. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Ryan says.

“At least he thinks he is,” Spencer adds, and Ryan can’t help laughing. That despite the cold and the hard ground and the fact his whole body is hurting, Spencer remains at his side, and that, for the first time in years, Ryan’s surrounded by actual friends.

~*~*~*~

In the time Ray’s helped run The Center, he’s seen thousands of different faces. Men, women and children who arrive through the doors, some who keep coming back and others who stayed only once. He’s given out endless amounts of food and drink, given warm clothes and blankets, and pointed people in the right direction for specialist help. 

In truth, a lot of those faces are nothing but blurs. There’s some that stand out, like Tom who’s been a permanent fixture at the back of the TV room, hardly saying a word. And Gabe, who arrived when he needed someplace to go where no one would judge as his world fell apart, and of course, Frank, someone who’s become part of their family. But the rest? Most have merged together, and Ray is okay with that. Except, sometimes he meets someone new and knows they won’t leave his head for a while. Like the four that arrived at The Center last night.

There’s nothing special about them. All four young and unkempt looking, mistrustful in a way that shows a hard life, but still clinging onto some pride, something that frustrated Ray when the thinnest would only agree to taking one blanket, and only then after a lot of persuasion. Ray isn’t even sure if they’ll come back, but he hopes so, and this time they’re not leaving without some more blankets.

“Morning, Ray.” A brief knock and Alicia walks into the kitchen, snagging a piece of bacon that’s being kept warm on a tray. Setting down her briefcase and travel cup of tea, she eats the bacon while leaning against the counter, watching Ray slice through rolls. “Do you need any help?”

“I’ve got it, thanks,” Ray says with a smile, efficiently setting another roll to the side and picking up the next one. “Gerard’s supposed to be helping but I’ve left him waking up with his coffee and computer.”

As plans go it’s one that’s well practiced, Gerard always wanting to help in the mornings but never actually getting to the point of practically helping without the aid of a few coffees. It’s why Ray steers him toward The Centers emails, where the combination of caffeine and frustration inevitably wakes Gerard up. 

Alicia finishes her bacon and takes a sip of her tea, holding onto the cup after. “Have you still not heard from the planner?”

“Not yet,” Ray says, his hold tightening on the knife. “They promised we’d know by this week, but if they don’t get in touch soon I think Gerard’s planning to go there in person. “

Alicia considers a moment. “Maybe it’ll help? Show them the human side of the plans.”

“We’ve thought about that,” and they have, at length and often, but as great as Gerard is at speaking, there’s always a chance he could push too far. “It’s our last resort. Mikey was going to talk to the planner, or else see if one of his friends could talk to them first.”

“He knows the planner?” Alicia asks, her dark ponytail swinging when she shakes her head and laughs. “Of course he does, or knows someone that does. I hope it helps. You’ve been waiting a long time.”

“Too long,” Ray says, and looks up at the sound of a thump from above. “Sounds like someone’s getting up. If Frank comes down half naked again warn me.”

“Oh hell no,” Alicia says, her feet crossed at the ankle and looking totally relaxed as she watches the door to the stairs. “I’ll be too busy watching him myself to warn you.”

“Perve.” Ray grins, always enjoying the time he gets to spend with Alicia, someone who’s remained a good friend in both a personal and business like way, to the extent she gives free legal advice twice weekly.

“Not denying it,” Alicia says, and then sighs when the door opens to reveal a fully dressed Mikey. “You’re not Frank, and you’ve got clothes on.”

“I usually do when I’m not in the shower,” Mikey says, looking longingly at the mug in Alicia’s hands. “Tell me you’ve started to drink coffee.”

“Nope,” Alicia says, and drinks again, drawing out the act. “Still tea. The same as the last hundred times that you’ve asked.”

Ray slices another roll, allowing the conversation go on for a little while longer. It’s one that Ray could recite word for word, the push and pull between Mikey and Alicia something he’s listened to often, their own in-joke that’s shared with the world. And now it’s time for Ray to take his own part as he steps away from his mound of rolls, quickly pouring a coffee for Mikey. “Here. Drink.”

“You sir, are a gentleman,” Mikey says, taking the mug and draining almost half of the contents in one gulp. “You saved my life.”

“Good, because we’ve got lots to do this morning.” Alicia stands, looking inside of her briefcase. “I’ve got appointments with three people and need to go through some figures with you first. If we start now we should be done before the first person arrives.”

“Slave driver,” Mikey grumbles, drinking the last of his coffee before refilling his mug. “Don’t you know that I’ve got Frank asleep in my bed?”

“That’s Miss Slave driver to you,” Alicia says with a grin, “And now I do, so you can tell me more about that while we set up.”

“I can do that,” Mikey agrees, “And did you see the match last night? It was fucking amazing.”

“See it, I was there,” Alicia says, briefcase in hand as she starts to exit the kitchen. “Contacts, baby. They’re good to have.”

“They are.” A last flashed smile to Ray, and Mikey follows Alicia, heading for the room she sets up as an office. Not that Ray’s alone for more than a few minutes.

The cut rolls covered with film, Ray positions the tray next to the serving hatch and looks at his watch. A few minutes and he’ll be able to open The Center, and no doubt already they’ll be a queue of people waiting outside. Ray just wishes he could open earlier, but he can’t, the hours The Center can be open are legally fixed. Which sucks, because even inside Ray can hear the wind blowing, and the first splatters of rain against the windows.

“Still no email,” Gerard says, scowling as he appears at the hatch and looks into the kitchen. “One more day and I’m going down there.”

“Make it a few days and I’ll go with you,” Ray says, smoothing back a lock of hair that’s fallen from the ponytail he has to wear while preparing and serving food. “I’m all done here.”

“Shit. I was supposed to help you.” Gerard disappears from the hatch and appears in the kitchen within moments, his mouth turned down at the corners. “Sorry. I got distracted and there were donation emails to reply to.”

“Not tumblr?” Ray asks, somehow managing to remain serious when Gerard looks away, suddenly contrite.

“Sorry. I was linked to this cat with stuff on its head, and it sort of went on from there,” Gerard says, pushing the mugs so they’re closer together. “I didn’t mean to, blame Pete.”

“Everything’s Pete’s fault, it always is,” Ray says, giving in to his urge to smile. “And it’s fine. It didn’t take long to do this.”

“I still should have helped.” A last push of a mug and Gerard pats Ray’s shoulder, and then looks at his watch. “It’s nearly time to open up.”

“I hope those kids come back, you know, those ones that came with Frank.” Again, Ray can’t help remembering how they appeared as they walked away last night, all four bundled deep in their coats and looking lost as they followed Gabe into the darkness. “I should have made them take more blankets.”

“We can’t force people to take stuff, we’re not reverse muggers,” Gerard says, and then, “But yeah, I hope they come back too. I think we can help them.”

“You think we can help everyone.” Which isn’t exactly a bad thing, except when it leads to Gerard fixating on yet another grand plan. Not that Ray’s going to complain, if it wasn’t for Gerard’s vision The Center would have remained a few people handing out soup from the back of a van, and not the thing it is now.

“That’s because we can help everyone,” Gerard says, checking his watch once again. “At least, we can try.”

“Yeah, we can,” Ray agrees, and heads for the front door.

~*~*~*~

His arms wrapped around his body and teeth clenched, Ryan tries to ignore Brendon who’s hovering close, misery radiating outwards. All Ryan wants to do is tell him to go away, to stop fussing, to leave Ryan alone -- but he won’t -- and Ryan’s close to snapping.

“Hey, Brendon, come on. Rex wants to play fetch.” Jon holds up a chewed rubber ball, laughing when Rex jumps up to grab it. “You’re keeping him waiting, here.”

“Coming. It’s just…..” Brendon looks at Ryan again, reaching out as if he’s wanting to touch. “Do you want anything? Water? I can run to the fountain if you want.”

“He’s fine, Brendon,” Spencer says, making himself be a barrier between Ryan and Brendon. “Go with Jon. I’ll look after Ryan.”

Ryan stays silent, only opening his mouth to talk when finally, Brendon reluctantly goes away, following Jon toward an open span of grass. “I’m fine. I don’t need looking after.”

“Of course you are,” Spencer agrees, ignoring Ryan’s glare so he can press the back of his hand to Ryan’s forehead. “That’s why you’re burning up and snapping at anyone that looks at you the wrong way.”

“That woman nearly tripped me up, and her bag was ugly,” Ryan says, stopping only because the tickle in his throat is getting unbearable. Coughing, he presses his hand against his chest, hoping that this time it’ll ease the ache. 

“She was at least eighty and had a walking stick,” Spencer says mildly, steering Ryan towards a nearby bench. “You need to see a doctor.”

“No I don’t.” That’s something Ryan’s not even going to consider, there’s no point. Even if they had some money, which they don’t, Ryan’s not taking the risk of anyone recording his name and where he is right now. “I’ve got Brendon’s cold, that’s all. You didn’t make him go to the doctor.”

Spencer sits, tugging Ryan down with him and sitting close. “That’s because Brendon’s cold was a normal cold, yours is a mutant sneak attack kind that strikes overnight.”

Or more likely, because Brendon’s still healthy with an immune system to match, unlike Ryan who’s been living without enough to eat for months now. Still, Ryan’s not going to a doctor, even though his chest feels heavy and he can’t stop shivering. Even sitting it’s taking all of his effort to stay upright, and Ryan is happy to give in when Spencer sighs and grabs hold, pulling Ryan in close so he can lean on his shoulder.

“You can’t stay outside today.” Spencer’s kept his arm around Ryan, holding him tight, a human windbreak against the gusting wind. “If you won’t go see a doctor you’re at least going to that place we went to last night. You can spend the day on a couch.”

“Bossy, I like it,” Ryan says, trying his hardest to keep his eyes open. “But we could stay here and sleep. I like this park and this bench. It’s comfy.”

“Yeah, not going to happen.” Spencer turns his head and brushes a quick kiss against the side of Ryan’s forehead. “We’re going to get up and go to The Center, and on the way you’re going to say sorry to Brendon for glaring at him all morning.”

“He gave me his death flu,” Ryan says, and then, “And I don’t like you being bossy that much.”

Spencer stands, bodily pulling Ryan up too. “You love me being bossy, so up, walk, say sorry. If we’re lucky there might be more brownies.”

“Hope so,” Ryan says, glad of the support of Spencer’s arm as they start walking again, Ryan painfully drawing in air with each step. “If there is, keep one for me, I’m not hungry.”

All Spencer says is, “I’ll keep you them all.”

~*~*~*~

It’s only by chance that Ray sees the four kids from the previous night. Taking out a sack of rubbish to the trash cans, he hears a bark, and then sees the four walking slowly along the street, checking out the buildings as they do so.

Bag shoved into the can, Ray checks his hands are clean and leans over the wall, waving to attract their attention. “Hi, are you just passing or coming to see us again? If so, come in.”

“Hey,” one of the kids walks faster, Brendon if Ray’s remembering rightly. “We’ve been looking for your place, but everything looks different in the dark.”

“Well, you’ve found us now,” Ray smiles, walking across the paved area in front of the building so he can open the front door. “It’s not time for lunch yet, but there’s other stuff going on. Classes, and the clothes area is open, or if you want, just hanging out watching TV.”

“Is it still okay for Rex to come in,” Jon asks, keeping back slightly as Rex cocks his leg at the gate post. “He’s house trained.”

“Sure it is.” Ray crouches, waiting until Rex finishes before ruffling the fur on his neck. “It’s not Bob’s regular day but he might drop by later. He always likes seeing the dogs.”

“Bob?” At the name Spencer directs his attention to Ray, looking his way while still standing close to his friend. “We took Rex to see a Bob. That’s where we met Frank.”

“That’ll be Bob, Frank’s always hanging out at his practice.” Almost as much as he hangs out at The Center in fact, enough that Ray suspects Bob’s close to offering Frank an actual job as an assistant. “He holds a drop in vet clinic here on a Friday, oh hey, are you okay?” It’s only while talking to Spencer that Ray notices that Ryan looks ill, swaying on his feet while Ray talks. “Come inside and sit down. You look dead on your feet.”

“I gave him my cold,” Brendon says, sounding miserable as he stares over at Ryan. “I didn’t mean to. My germs must have been jumpers.”

“Germs are slippery like that,” Ray says, concerned when he takes in how pale Ryan is, and how, if it wasn’t for Spencer, he wouldn’t be upright. “You all need to come in.”

With those words Ray goes inside, inputting his code at the door and holding it open. Inside it’s busy, the sound of voices coming from most of the rooms and Ray tries to think of the best place to take Ryan. He needs somewhere quiet, but with Alicia’s legal clinic going on and the clothes room open the whole downstairs is a scene of organized chaos. Quickly making a decision, Ray leads the way down the hallway, looking into the kitchen as he passes. “Mikey, I’m taking Ryan to the practice room. Can you bring him a hot drink.”

Without waiting for an answer Ray keeps walking, heading for a room at the very back of the building. It’s one that gets used, but not as often as the others, and best of all, has one of the more rickety couches shoved into the corner. 

“I give private music lessons here sometimes,” Ray says, slowing his steps so the group can keep up. “And free group ones, too. Not that many people take those up. They’d rather hang out and watch TV.”

“Then they’re stupid,” Brendon says, his mouth falling open as Ray opens the music room door. “You’ve got…. wow.”

Ray can’t help feeling pleased. While music is another one of his passions it’s one that’s not shared by many who come to The Center. Sometimes he thinks he should sell some of the instruments and equipment that’s kept in this room, but reactions like Brendon’s make him glad that he hasn’t. 

“Most of it is second hand and donated,” Ray says, enjoying the way Brendon’s circling the room, looking delighted as he takes in the piano, full drum kit and various other instruments lined carefully against the wall. “You can play if you want. It’s for everyone. Just, you have to let one of the staff know first.”

Brendon stops in front of the piano, resting his fingers against the closed lid. “I’d love to, but not now. We came here for Ryan, yeah.”

“Fuck, yeah. Sorry.” Instantly feeling guilty, Ray turns back to Ryan. “Go and lie down on the couch, I’ll get you a blanket and some pillows.”

“I’m okay, I don’t need that,” Ryan says, struggling to keep himself standing up straight so he can directly look Ray in the eye. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.” Taking control, Spencer steers Ryan across the room and gently pushes him down, the couch rocking to one side when Ryan lands heavily. “Sit there and rest already.”

Ray watches, taking in how Spencer’s fussing, ensuring Ryan’s sitting comfortably despite Ryan trying to push him away, then steps to one side when he hears someone walk into the room.

“I’ve brought a hot drink,” Mikey says, a large mug held in one hand. Crossing the room he crouches slightly, unflinchingly meeting Ryan’s glare. “I’d ask who it’s for but I assume it’s for the one who looks like a walking corpse.”

“It’s for Ryan, yeah,” Ray says, and, seeing how Spencer bristles adds, “From Mikey that’s a compliment. He likes walking corpses.”

“I do,” Mikey agrees. “Zombies are fucking awesome, and fucking creepy. “Frank dressed up as one last Halloween and crawled into my bed. I about shit my pants.”

“Like you were wearing any,” Ray says, the memory of Frank’s birthday still fresh in his mind, when both he and Mikey emerged from Mikey’s room covered in smeared make-up and fake blood. “Ryan, Spencer, Brendon, Jon, this is Mikey. Frank’s other half, Gerard’s brother and sometime worker in this place.”

“Guilty as charged,” Mikey says, waiting until he’s sure Ryan’s securely holding the mug. “It’s tea with honey. Lindsey says that’s the best thing to drink when you’re not feeling well.”

A long moment, and then Ryan allows, “I like tea,” before taking a sip.

“There’s more where that comes from,” Ray says, all too aware of the long list of things he has to get through today. “Stay here as long as you want, we won’t be closing until midnight. Or come out and look around, the only place off-limits is upstairs and the office.”

Spencer sits next to Ryan, taking the mug when it threatens to spill. “Thanks.”

“It’s what we’re here for,” Ray says, his thoughts already turning to spreadsheets and running costs. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

“Are they in the same place as yesterday?” Brendon asks, fidgeting as he tries to stay in one place. “I could get it.”

“The storeroom, yeah,” Ray says, about to explain a staff member has to go along too due to theft prevention when Mikey cuts in.

“I’ll go with Brendon, I’ve nothing on for the next hour.”

“If it’s okay we’ll come along too,” Jon says, Rex’s leash held loosely in his hand. “Rex likes to explore new places.”

“Sure,” Mikey says, stroking Rex and laughing when he licks at his hand. “We can go and see Frank after, he likes dogs.”

Already moving, Brendon looks at Ryan, seemingly about to say something before changing his mind and turning his attention to Mikey instead. “He’s already met Rex. He helped get meds for Rex’s rash. Bob gave him some cream and said it was a skin irritation, probably due to flea bites. We’d been sleeping in this sketchy old house the week before. I’m sure I saw something moving in an abandoned mattress.”

“Gross,” Mikey says, ushering Brendon out of the door. “I got flea bites once. I think they were nesting in Gerard’s clothes.”

“I’m going to ask him about that,” Ray says, aware of how Ryan’s slumping down, already half asleep. With a last smile, Ray leaves them in peace.

~*~*~*~

If he was asked, Ryan would say he never gets sick. Of course it’s not true, he’s been sick plenty, but the kind of sick where you’ve no choice but to keep going. He’s gone to school and had to vomit in bushes on the way there. Has tidied the house when his head felt like it was splitting; has dealt with his dad while panting for breath, his chest tight and aching. 

It’s just what he did -- what he does -- except for now, when as hard as he tries, Ryan can’t find the energy to get moving. Which he has to. He’s already spent most of the day sleeping, waking up shivering with Spencer sitting close, trying to hide his worry when he notices Ryan is awake. 

Ryan’s drunk fluids and taken the meds that Lindsey offered, but nothing is working, at least, not fast enough. Which sucks, because Ryan’s got no choice but to stand up and start walking. He’s already heard Ray and Gerard talking, an intense and lengthy discussion when they thought Ryan was sleeping and no one could hear, and the facts are, even if they’re willing to risk The Center by keeping Ryan overnight, Ryan’s not staying.

For one he’s not taking more charity he doesn’t deserve, and two, Ryan may have only known about this place for two days, but already he knows it’s a lifeline for many. Ryan’s not going to risk that. He’s not going to be the person responsible for getting The Center shut down, no matter what plots Ray and Gerard may have hatched. It’s why Ryan forces himself to stand, swaying at the blood rush to his head as he says, “We’re going.”

“Gerard said you might be able to stay upstairs, saying you were a friend of theirs if anyone official asks,” Spencer says, standing and holding onto Ryan, being his usual constant support. “No one would rat you or them out.”

“They could.” Ryan knows enough about life to be well aware that no matter the circumstance, there’s always someone there to cause trouble. Plus, beyond that, “I’m not staying here without you. Or Brendon, Rex and Jon.”

“We’d stay close by,” Spencer says, and Ryan’s going to shut this down now, before Spencer pokes at Ryan’s weaknesses and gets him to stay.

“I’m going, and you can’t make me stay.” Ryan proves that by starting to walk from the room, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and staying upright. “See, I’m fine. It’s just a cold.”

“You look like you’re going to fall on your face,” Brendon says quietly. Hovering close, he reaches out a hand, as if ready to leap forward and stop Ryan from falling if needed. “You should stay.”

“Not without Spencer, or you and Jon,” Ryan says again, forcing a glare to emphasize his point. “We’re going.”

“Okay, fine.” Spencer strides forward, grabbing hold of Ryan. “You’re a stubborn bastard.”

Relieved, Ryan rests against Spencer, allowing him to take some of his weight as they walk and says, “Always have been.”

~~~~

The walk from The Center sucks, and by the time they find a sheltered space to stay all Ryan wants to do is curl up and sleep. It doesn’t help that the place they do find isn’t ideal. While there is some shelter it’s provided by a brick wall and Ryan feel the damp leaching through his pants when he finally gets to sit down.

Bringing up his legs, he wraps his arms around his bent knees and drops his head, tasting damp material as he breathes through his mouth. Eyes closing, he listens to the rustle of bags being opened, and feels one of the blankets be draped over his shoulders. Opening one eye, he sees it’s the one made of rainbow colored squares, the one Brendon picked specially this morning, the one that’s soft and warm and drapes just right. 

“You made a good choice,” Ryan says and then, “You all need to share.”

“We will,” Spencer says, arranging bags so Ryan can rest against them. “We’re just setting up our bed.”

If Ryan had the energy he’d laugh at the thought of this cold, dark place in any way resembling a bed. But, Spencer’s still moving, taking out more blankets which he lays over Ryan and then says, “Jon, Brendon, get either side of Ryan.”

“Won’t he want you next to him?” Jon asks, and Ryan wants to say, _Yes, yes I do_ but stays quiet, knowing Spencer has to have reasons.

“I’m going on the outside tonight,” Spencer says. “But I’ll be close. He needs body heat.”

Normally, Ryan would protest he was here, that he has a name and it’s not ‘he’, but right now he’s content to ease himself down, Brendon a reassuring presence, making sure Ryan’s covered just right before lying down close. It’s something that should feel weird, Brendon someone Ryan’s coming to like, but not in a way that means sleeping so close, but somehow it doesn’t. The same way it doesn’t feel weird when Jon lies close behind him, and after a brief hesitation, rests his arm over Ryan’s body so he’s completely blanketed on both sides. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, and Ryan isn’t. He’s hurting and feels sick and so dizzy that the world spins around him when he opens his eyes. But, as sick as he feels, having Brendon, Jon and Spencer so close helps.

It’s why he says simply, “Yeah.”

~*~*~*~

Sometimes, Ray thinks he’s a bad person, like now, when he feels terrible that Ryan and his friends have left when no one was watching, but also a little relieved. He doesn’t want to be, and if it was the only option left, would still risk everything to help someone so sick, but deep down, Ray’s all too aware of what could have gone wrong.

All it would take is one wrong word, one malicious person telling tales when they shouldn’t, and things could have been over. But that doesn’t stop Ray from feeling so guilty.

Frustrated, he sits at the desk and opens his laptop, refreshing The Centers official email -- and there’s nothing. 

“Still no word?” Frank asks, looking into the office from the hallway.

“Does it look like I’m celebrating?” Ray snaps, and instantly regrets it, beckoning to Frank that he should come in “Sorry, it’s been a long day and I just want to know something concrete. This waiting in limbo sucks. We need this extension, if we had it people wouldn’t have to go sleep in the cold. It’s wrong, we’ve got the land and could help so many people who need it. Instead all I can do is kick them out and lock the door behind them.”

“You’re a good man,” Ray,” Frank says, stepping onto the room and perching on the corner of Ray’s desk. “But I’m going to tell you this for your own good. You need a break. You’re starting to sound like Gerard on one of his rampages.”

About to protest, Ray shuts his mouth instead, thinking about what Frank’s just said. Which isn’t a bad thing as such. It’s Gerard’s passion that helps keep this place going, but sometimes you do have to step back, it’s case of that or burning out completely. 

“Okay, yeah. You’ve got a point.” Deliberately shutting his laptop, Ray leans back in his chair with a sigh. “I should go take a shower, get an early night.”

“Or you could stop making out like you’re old before your time and get away from this place,” Frank says, jumping to his feet. “I’m going out with Mikey, and you’re coming with us. It’ll give Gerard and Lindsey some time alone and you can keep Mikey company while I play.”

“I doubt he’ll need company,” Ray says, torn between thoughts of his bed and the fact that he hasn’t been out at night for far too long. Despite how tired he is, it’s tempting to just get up and go, pretend that for a while, Ray isn’t carrying such a heavy weight on his shoulders. “But okay, this is James’ band yeah? The one where you’re playing stand-in.”

Frank grins, says, “That’s the one. Now get the fuck up and into your tightest jeans. We’re going out to have some fun.”

Really, there’s no chance Ray is about to say no.

~~~~~

“Ray! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Bracing himself, Ray only staggers a little when Pete runs from the back of the crowd, launching himself at Ray’s back. “I thought you’d forgotten us for a lifestyle of philanthropy and giving.”

Ray reaches up, his hands on Pete’s clasped arms. “I only saw you last week.”

“Yeah, but that was in my boring daytime role,” Pete says, his breath hot against Ray’s ear. “I don’t get to feel you up when I’m wearing my suit.”

“Except, you still do.” Not that Ray actually minds, as long as Pete keeps it professional in front of the sponsors and any officials -- which is something he’s always done -- Ray doesn’t care how often Pete cops a feel. “Are you playing tonight, too?”

Pete shakes his head. “Just here to watch. But you should be playing. It’s been too long.”

“Haven’t got the time,” Ray says, even though right now his hands ache to hold a guitar, to get onto a stage and lose himself in the music. “Especially with this stupid extension.”

“You still haven’t got permission?” Pete unclasps his arms, sliding down and twisting around Ray’s body so he’s facing him directly. “That blows, I know how much you all want it.”

“Need it more like,” Ray says, and then, “But no shop talk tonight. I’m here to watch Frank and James.”

“And to hang with us,” Mikey says, easing into the small space between Ray and Pete. “I got you a drink, but I got thirsty on the way over and drank it.”

“You’re all thought, Mikey,” Ray says, and can’t help grinning at Mikey who’s utterly unrepentant. “I suppose I’ll go and get my own.”

“We’ll come too,” Mikey says, and within moments Ray finds himself with Mikey on one arm and Pete on the other. In terms of moving easily it’s not the best arrangement, walking three abreast taking up far too much room. But somehow, Mikey and Pete seem to manage, weaving through the crowd while Ray is the solid center that moves them all forward. 

It’s only when they get close to the bar that they both break away, someone copping a feel of Ray’s ass before they do so, or two someone’s, Ray looking to both sides when he feels two different distinct touches. 

Pete holds up his hands, his smile wide and toothy. “Couldn’t help it, no suit, remember.”

“And Frank will understand,” Mikey adds, his smile almost as broad as Pete’s. 

“I’m sure he will,” Ray mock grumbles, Frank no stranger to friendly ass grabs himself. “What time are they due to play?”

“Around one thirty, they’re the last act on the bill,” Mikey says, looking toward the door that leads to backstage. “Hopefully people will stay.”

“They will,” Pete says, sounding confident, and then, “Frank filling in on guitar just makes them more rad.”

“It does, he does,” Mikey says, and Ray can’t look away from his face, how Mikey’s feelings for Frank shine through with those quietly said words. It’s a reminder that Frank, someone who used to live on the streets, someone who pulled himself up and now has a steady relationship, places to stay and a potential job in the wings, has it all due to The Center.

It’s a reminder that Ray holds onto, that despite the hard work and sacrifices, it’s all worthwhile. Holding onto that feeling, Ray beckons to the bartender for three drinks, ready for a good night, and to start the hard work all over again tomorrow.

~*~*~*~

When Ryan wakes the first thing he hears is Spencer and Jon talking. They’re trying to be quiet, their voices hushed, but the urgency of their conversation is readily apparent. Trying to suppress a cough so he can hear more, Ryan eventually has to give in, coughing for so long and hard that he ends up gasping and wet-eyed.

“That’s it, you’re okay,” Spencer soothes, reassuring as he kneels next to Ryan, offering him a drink of water from out of a bottle. “Drink this.”

Ryan does, the water feeling like blades against his throat. Still, it eases his cough for a while, enough to demand, “What’s wrong?” At first it looks like neither will answer, and Ryan pushes at the blankets that are tucked around him, trying to get free of the sweat-soaked material. “Spencer?”

“Settle down.” Spencer helps Ryan to sit, propping him up against the wall of the underpass they’ve been sheltering in for the last few days. When he’s sure Ryan’s not about to flop onto his side, Spencer adds, “It’s Brendon. He went to get you some meds.”

Instantly Ryan feels dread lodge deep in his chest. While Brendon isn’t Spencer, someone Ryan’s known forever, he’s someone Ryan’s started to care for, even if he does irritate at times. The thought of Brendon, someone who’s still very much a novice in terms of being on the streets, being alone makes Ryan light-headed, even more than he has been for the last few days. Grasping at straws he says, “Tell me he found some money while I was asleep. Or that he’s trying to get dog meds from Bob.”

“He was worried about you,” Jon says, petting Rex’s back when he starts whining. “You’ve been so out of it and refused to go to the clinic or The Center,”

“Because I’m okay,” Ryan all but yells, and then amends that to, “Okay, I’ll be fine,” when he leaves himself breathless. “Why didn’t you tell him that?”

“We did, lots of times.” Spencer stands, carefully tightening the lid of the bottle. “Then when we woke up this morning he’d gone.”

Jon holds out a scrap of paper. “He left us a note.”

Ryan stares at the note, recognizing the paper and color of ink. “He’s been rummaging in my bag. My private stuff.”

“At least he left us a note,” Spencer says, ignoring Ryan’s outburst for the distraction technique that it is. “We’re going to find him. We’re going to leave Rex here with you.”

“Not happening,” Ryan says instantly. No matter how sick he still feels there’s no way he’s staying here while Spencer and Jon look for Brendon. Angry, at himself for getting sick, at Brendon for being so concerned and stupid, at the world at large, Ryan hauls himself to his feet.

It takes a while, especially after doing little but lie and sleep for such a long time, but worry propels Ryan on. Finally, standing mostly upright, Jon and Spencer at his side, Ryan says, “Did he say where he was going?”

“No.” After checking Jon’s steadying Ryan, Spencer kneels, packing the blankets into their bags. Movements hurried, Spencer makes no attempt at neat folds, just stuffs and pushes, and that more than anything shows how worried he is. “But he’s been asking about busking again.”

It makes sense. Brendon’s got a good voice, Ryan’s heard him singing often, brief outbursts of song when he’s happy and, on occasions, something laced with sadness when he thought no one could hear. The problem is, while doing so would probably result in some money, there’s an unspoken hierarchy of patches that Brendon’s unaware of. If he sets up in the wrong place he’ll be told to move on, and if he doesn’t respond in the right way -- which he won’t, Ryan knows that he won’t -- will be physically moved from the area.

Ryan’s seen it a few times. Newbies arriving on busses and foot, pinch-faced and desperate as they try begging for money or trying to busk in a variety of ways. And every time they’re warned off, made to move by the old-timers who run these parts of the streets. It’s why Ryan and Spencer have survived by foraging for food only, keeping themselves at a safe distance from the drink and drugs culture that’s so prevalent in some areas. Not that it’s not tempting. Ryan would love to forget sometimes, his past and present blurred and made hazy, but not like that. Ryan may not have a home or many belongings, but he’s still got his dignity, and intends to hold onto that.

Now though, they need to find Brendon before he gets into some trouble he can’t get out of. The world still moving around him, Ryan starts walking.

~*~*~*~

“So, I talked to some people,” Mikey announces, taking a seat next to Ray. “A friend of a friend of a friend works in the planning department, but the best they could find out is they’re in the process of making a decision.”

As news goes it nothing spectacular, but at least Ray knows their application hasn’t been lost in a dusty corner somewhere. He has to take solace in that, even if the waiting is driving him insane. And it’s not like there aren’t things to be done in the meantime. With the weather turning colder more people are turning up at The Center, each one in need of a warm place to stay, if only for a few hours. With the extra people and usual drop in sessions, every moment is busy meaning more people are getting the help that they need, and Ray’s glad about that.

“That’s okay, thanks for asking around,” Ray says, clicking send on his email. “That wholesale butchers has agreed to supply meat at cost price. I’ve just accepted their offer.”

“Awesome.” Mikey grins and gives Ray a thumbs up, “More sausage is….”

“I don’t want to know,” Ray cuts in, trying to stop this line of conversation before it gets started. “I don’t want any comments about sausages or Frank or even worse, frankfurters.”

“Have you arranged to get frankfurters, too?” Gerard asks, someone who of course has been passing at the most unfortunate of times. Changing direction, he comes into the office, trying to peer at the screen of Ray’s laptop. 

“No frankfurters,” Mikey says, deadpan as he adds, “Ray was just talking about his sausage.”

“Oh.” A moment and then Gerard says. “It’s a good sausage, but probably best to shut the door if you want to discuss it. Someone could hear.”

“They could,” Mikey agrees. “And they’d get jealous that we can talk about Ray’s sausage and they can’t.”

“Because that would be inappropriate,” Gerard adds, utterly serious. “Ray’s sausage isn’t something for public discussion.”

“Or consumption,” Mikey says, and then, “But it does fill you up.”

Torn between blushing and amusement, Ray needs to stop this right now, but that’s hard when each time he looks between Mikey and Gerard, both of whom look suspiciously solemn, Ray wants to burst into laughter. “Okay, that’s enough. No more sausage talk. The sausage is over now.”

“It’s a dead sausage,” Mikey says, his stern facade cracking as he laughs and hi-fives Gerard. “Okay, no more sausage talk. I need to go help set up for Alicia’s legal drop in.”

“And Bob’s changed his day to this afternoon, remember,” Gerard says, reading some message off of his hand. “He said it’ll be around twoish.”

“Yeah, after he does that adoption day at the pet shop with Frank,” Mikey says, standing and unlocking his phone before scrolling through pictures. “Frank sent me a text earlier, he’s surrounded by kittens.”

“As long as none of them turn up here,” Ray says, experience showing that kittens and puppies aren’t a good mix at The Center. “I can’t spend another day knocking holes in walls.”

“It was only three holes and it wasn’t the kitten’s fault it got in the vent,” Mikey says, affection softening his words as he looks at the picture on his phone before putting it away in his pocket. “An official The Center cat would be fantastic.”

“And a recipe for disaster when the extensions being built,” Ray says, shutting this argument down before Mikey can unleash his multiple reasons for getting a dog or a cat, each one Ray knows off by heart. “Thinking of, I’m going to phone up the planners.”

“Good idea.” Gerard takes Mikey’s former place, edging the phone toward Ray. “It’s nearly eleven, they should have had a chance to look at things now.”

Ray agrees and presses the first number.

~*~*~*~

If he’d thought about it logically Ryan wouldn’t have ran at the man holding Brendon. As it is, seeing Brendon being held so tightly, his eye half swollen shut and nose bloody makes Ryan see red. 

Without a word, Ryan runs, blood pounding in his ears as he attacks, rage building as Brendon yelps when the man tightens his grip.

“Get off him.” To the side, Spencer’s running too, swiping his bag in an arc and hitting the man in the face. He staggers, but doesn’t let go, just keeps on shaking Brendon while batting Ryan and Spencer away. As fights go it should be unequal, three against one, but somehow the man is winning. Easily, he wards off Spencer and Ryan, laughing as he punches with his free hand, casing Spencer to stagger back before instantly leaping forward again, trying to protect Ryan and Brendon.

It doesn’t help. Already weak, Ryan’s got no chance of moving away before he’s caught with a punch, the ground rushing toward him when he lands with a thud. Winded, Ryan tries to catch his breath, feeling blood trickle down his chin as he tries to push himself up.

Which is when Jon steps forward and commands, “Rex. Attack.”

Rex does. In a blur of snarling white teeth and glossy brown and black fur he jumps at the man, latching onto his arm. Yelling, the man kicks out, making Brendon gasp when he tries to put his body between the man’s foot and Rex.

“Let him go and I’ll call him off.” Jon walks forward, looking nothing like his usual mellow and calm self as he stares down the man. “If you don’t I’ll tell him to bite down. And he will obey.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you, and this dog,” the man snarls, but he lets go of Brendon, pushing him abruptly away. “Keep away from my patch, and get this mangy animal off me before I slit its throat.”

“Rex. Drop.” Jon says, still meeting the man eye to eye. “Get out of here before I tell him to attack again.”

Without another word, the man goes, and Ryan keeps trying to stand up, trying to control his hands shaking when he finally gets to his knees.

“Are you okay?” Wiping his hand under his nose, Brendon crouches next to Ryan, reaching out to touch.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Ryan yells, anger still building as Brendon initially recoils but then stays next to Ryan. “You don’t go off alone. You don’t know this place well enough yet. You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.” Brendon looks behind him, glancing at Spencer and Jon who’re both standing waiting, letting Brendon deal by himself. “I wasn’t, Ryan. I know you think I’m stupid and some kind of an idiot. But I can look after myself”

“Looks like it,” Ryan says, but as angry as he is, he can’t let all of Brendon’s comment go unanswered. “And I don’t think you’re stupid and an idiot.”

“You think I’m annoying sometimes,” Brendon says, and right now it feels like the world has retreated, until all that’s left is Brendon with his downturned mouth and sloped shoulders, looking so defeated that Ryan’s chest aches even more. “You don’t say it but I can tell.”

Ryan tries to think what to say, how to explain his emotions to someone who hasn’t know Ryan his whole life. In the end all he can say is the truth. “Yeah, you are annoying at times. But so am I. Everyone’s annoying at times, even Spencer. But you’re good at things too. Lots of them. So don’t ever do this again, because I’d miss you if you were gone.”

“You sweet talker.” Brendon straightens up and grins, exposing blood-stained teeth. “I hope you meant that because I’m going to hug you right now.”

And he does, clinging on until Ryan pulls back and says, “We’re missing people here.”

It’s not what Ryan expected to say, especially not now when he’s kneeling on a damp sidewalk with blood on his chin and a mouth that’s already thumping with pain -- but somehow it feels right. 

“You wanting a hug, Ross?” Spencer says, already walking forward and looking directly at Ryan. “You feeling okay?”

“Like I was run over by a truck,” Ryan admits, but as much as he just wants to lean into Spencer and Brendon, there’s one thing he has to do first. Changing his focus, Ryan beckons Jon forward from where he’s looking away, his attention pointedly on Rex. “Jon. That means you, too.”

“Me?” Surprise changes to a small smile when Jon approaches the group, still holding Rex’s collar. 

“Of course you,” Spencer says. “You’re one of us.”

“You are,” Ryan agrees, and when the group is complete, Rex jammed between Brendon and Jon, all Ryan wants, and does, is hold on.

~*~*~*~

At 5pm The Center is hopping. Busy helping Lindsey and Gerard serve up dinner, Ray nearly drops a serving of lasagna onto the floor when Frank runs into the kitchen and yells, “I’ve got a job!”

It’s news Ray’s been expecting, but hearing it in person is amazing, especially when Frank’s so delighted. Launching himself at Lindsey he dances her around the room and then kisses Gerard cheek before turning to Bob, who’s patiently waiting in the doorway.

“I’m going to be Bob’s new assistant, his fucking assistant.” Frank jumps in the air and spins again on landing. “Fuck those who wrote me off. I’m going to be a rock star at night and an assistant during the day.”

“Sounds like you’re going to be busy,” Gerard says, setting down his spatula and wiping his hands on his striped apron.

Mostly still now, Frank’s still grinning as he says, “I will be, especially as I’ll be boning your brother, too.”

At Gerard’s pained noise in response, Bob glares at Frank and says, “If you pull that shit in the practice I will castrate you. I have the tools and the knowledge to do it.”

“No talk about boning Mikey at work,” Frank says, miming zipping his lips. “Got it.”

“How about you extending that to here, too?” Gerard asks, sighing when Frank shakes his head. “It was worth a try.”

“It was,” Ray agrees, and would say more except Mikey’s ran into the kitchen, holding Ray’s laptop in his hands.

“I needed to send Frank a congratulations cat macro.”

“You just walked home with him,” Bob says.

“And why use my computer?” Not that Ray cares that he’s done so, but Mikey’s got his own computer, and of course, his phone.

“I save my cat macros on your computer,” Mikey says, as if that makes perfect sense. “But no talking about cats. You’ve got the email.”

“Fuck.” Ray stares at the screen of his laptop, where an email with the subject _Planning permission for 782 Primas Avenue_ is at the top of page. It’s an email Ray’s been waiting for -- what they’ve all been waiting for -- but now that it’s here he’s hesitating, momentarily afraid to see what’s inside.

“Want me to open it?” Mikey asks, but Ray shakes his head. 

Taking the laptop from Mikey, he steadies himself against the counter, all too aware that the whole room is hushed, each person waiting to see Ray’s response.

Ray clicks the button and reads, and then, weakly says, “We’ve got it. We’ve fucking got it.”

“We’ve got permission to extend?” At Ray’s nod it’s Gerard that starts dancing, twirling Lindsey in tight circles while Bob looks on indulgently as Frank jumps again and ends up pulling Mikey and Ray into a hug.

“We’ve got it,” Ray says again, barely able to believe it. “We can extend. Have people stay when they need it.”

Clasping Lindsey’s hand, Gerard pulls her to Ray, Frank and Mikey, Bob following behind. Grin momentarily gone as he says, “We can build our house.”

It’s true, except for one thing, and Ray simply says, “No, we can build our home.”

~*~*~*~

It’s been nearly a week since Ryan, Brendon, Spencer and Jon have been to The Center. Even so, going inside feels comfortable and familiar, like they’re entering an always safe place.

Despite the lingering ache in his chest it feels like Ryan can breathe easier as Brendon hurries ahead and Jon keeps Rex on a short leash. At first all Ryan sees is Tom at the back of the TV room, but then Frank’s running along the hallway, coming to a sudden, skidding stop as he says, “Fuck. I’m glad to see you guys. I heard some things but couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“We’ve been lying low,” Spencer says, touching Ryan’s hand. “And Ryan’s been sick.”

For a long time Frank stares at Ryan. “You know what makes me feel better when I’ve been sick? Hot tea and cookies. I know where you can get both.”

“Has Gerard been baking again?” Brendon asks, looking toward the music room before following Frank toward the kitchen. “Are they Skittles brownies?”

“Nope. But there are leftover celebratory ordinary brownies,” Frank says, and before anyone can ask. “They got the planning permission for the extension, and I got a job with Bob.”

“That’s fantastic,” Brendon says, grinning at Frank. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, I love it there,” Frank says, quieter now, the fact that he actually does love his job showing though. “Bob lets me pick the music when I’m cleaning the cages and he’s teaching me some things and oh, I’m moving in with Mikey.” The last is said quickly, as if Frank still can’t believe what he’s saying. “He asked me and it made sense because I was always crashing here anyway, and now I’ve got my own place as well as a job.”

“That’s great,” Ryan says, and means it, even if he can’t help a pang of jealousy that Frank’s got a permanent safe place to sleep. “If we’re still around we’ll put our names down for a place when the overnight shelter finally opens.”

“You’d better be around,” Frank says, ruffling Rex’s fur. “I’ve already put Rex into the system. He’s one of our dogs now, and no charge.”

“Can you do that?” Jon asks, laughing when Rex whines and lifts up a paw. 

Frank takes Rex’s paw and says, “For the special dogs we can. Especially for ones that rescue their friends.”

“You know about that?” Not that Ryan’s surprised, it’s just, the thought of people knowing how weak they all were makes him uncomfortable.

“Of course I do, you all took on Edgy Dan and won. You’re all badasses,” Frank says, like he actually means it. “And as badasses you all should have cookies or brownies. So come on in, except for you, Rex. Sorry, boy. No dogs allowed in the kitchen.”

Surprisingly the kitchen is empty. To the background burr of the dishwasher Frank switches on the kettle and examines plates that are covered in film. Satisfied with what he finds he peels off the film from a plate and offers it over, says, “Have a cookie.”

Ryan takes two, giving one to Jon who’s remained in the doorway next to Rex, before taking a bite of his own, enjoying the rich taste of chocolate. “They’re good.”

“I know, right?” Busy gathering mugs, Frank lines them up on the counter, then turns and says, “Look. This may be weird because you don’t know him, but me moving out means there’s room at James’ You’d have to sleep on the couch but he’s got airbeds and tours a lot, so a lot of times his apartment is empty. He’d like to have somebody stay, or four somebodies.”

“But does he know we can’t pay rent?” Spencer says, Ryan easily able to discern that under his even comment Spencer longs to say yes. “There’s a difference between letting a friend sleep on your couch and four strangers crash for nothing.”

“So you’ll get a job eventually, I did, it’ll be easier when you have an actual address,” Frank says, as if rent is an issue that doesn’t matter in the slightest. “Just think about it. James is a good guy and will be relieved someone’s watching his place while he’s touring.”

“We’ll think about it,” Ryan allows, giving himself that one piece of hope even though, he knows it’s something that won’t happen. It can’t. Life just doesn’t work like that, when good things happen for no reason.

“Great,” Frank says, and then, “I’ll call him later. Say you might want to meet up.”

All Ryan can say is, “Thanks,” because even when it doesn’t work out, it means a lot that Frank is trying. That he thinks they’re worthy of taking his place.

Just that thought is fantastic, and right now, in this place, with people around him that he loves and respects, Ryan feels the best he has in a while. That for the first time in forever things are looking up, and that, he may have an actual future. One he’ll approach along with Spencer, Brendon and Jon. 

Four men and their dog, and together they’ll make it, whatever form that takes.


End file.
